Begging for, and voluntarily giving, alms was embedded within Burmese culture. Nuns and monks went out every day, generally in single file, each holding a bowl with both hands, while their laypeople neighbours stood in front of their houses with cookers or pans of food, which they respectfully spooned into the monks’ and nuns’ bowls. There were many rules and customs that came with the begging; for example, monks and nuns were not supposed to request any food, accepting only what they were given, whatever it may be. They were not supposed to favour one type of food over another, or store anything to be eaten later, nor were they supposed to expressly thank their donors. The donors, on the other hand, considered providing food to the monks and nuns a vital part of their lives, often inviting them in for a drink of tea.
For Sarah and the rest of the team, it was a fascinating human interaction to observe, and they couldn’t get enough, Su Lin often opening her window of the van, sticking her head out, and snapping pictures with her telephoto lens as they drove to the nunnery every morning.
Every evening, they reviewed the next day’s lessons with Thein’s team, often over dinner and tea, intermixed with laughing and joking, all sharing stories of their lives. They learned that Min, the taller of the two women, had recently moved to a fourth-storey unit of a new building only to find that her water ran from the tap for only one hour per day, usually around midnight. She described her frustration at keeping the tap open, staying up until the water started running, then frantically filling the bathtub, sink, and every pot and pan she owned so that she would have enough water for the next day’s washing and cooking. Even in telling this story, though, the woman remained poised and optimistic. Sarah marvelled at how she kept her appearance so neat, long skirt always secured tightly, skin totally flawless.
During the middle weekend, Thein took them out for some proper sight-seeing, including a visit to the famous Shwedagon Pagoda, the most sacred temple in the country, believed to enshrine strands of Buddha’s hair. They each learned their planetary posts of the day of their birth, which were represented by animals. Sarah found out that she was a lion and Ruby a tiger, which made Ruby very happy because both Eric and Jason were tigers in the lunar zodiac. Thein showed them all how to pray for good blessings at their respective animal shrines, Sarah dutifully pouring water over the lion 38 times to match her age.
On Sunday, Sarah and Ruby broke from the group, indulging in high tea at the historic Strand Hotel and relishing the cool, air-conditioned bathroom.
She messaged Jason often; Ruby, of course, missing her father terribly, requested Sarah send him and Eric daily videos and photos documenting their adventure. In the middle of the second week, Thein took them to a local market where the entire group bought traditional form-fitting tops and skirts, the mothers all commenting sorrowfully that the skirts were really better suited for women who had not yet borne children.
On the last morning, they donned their new outfits and applied thanaka to their cheeks, the traditional cream made from ground bark, drawing oohs and aahs from Min and Sanda when they arrived, both women clapping in delight. They shortened their lessons that morning as Thein had arranged for a traditional puppet troupe to come in and perform for the entire nunnery in successive shows.
Jason and Eric arrived at the nunnery from the airport as the last performance was starting; Sarah had warned Jason to tell Eric in advance that he should be prepared for a different environment – girls with shaved heads, squat pot bathrooms, dirt roads, rickety stairs – but he kicked off his sandals on top of the pile with all the others without any hesitation and scampered up the stairs, gleefully reuniting with his older sister.
After the puppet troupe packed up and left, the nuns gathered in the main hall, knelt and bowed their heads, and started singing a beautiful blessing, which they continued to repeat as the head nun went to each volunteer to personally take their hands in thanks, although technically, according to Buddhist custom, she was not supposed to expressly give thanks to her donors. Tears started welling up in Sarah’s eyes when she saw the older nun embracing Ruby and Ruby hugging her back with as much emotion, if not more.
They loaded their backpacks into the van and started saying goodbye to the young nuns. Everyone was crying; some of the younger nuns grabbed onto their clothes, begging them to stay. Sarah saw her star English pupil of the past two weeks, a nine-year-old who had proudly introduced herself to Jason in English, standing on the side, waving shyly and mouthing “goodbye”. Sarah boarded the van, and wiped away her tears, her mind already in motion, planning for another trip next year.
After subtracting the funds estimated for the renovations, stationery and hygienic supplies for all the nuns, general expenses for the trip including paying Thein and his team a tour guide day rate, which he, at first, rejected but in the end accepted graciously, Sarah had converted the remaining donations they had raised into a multi-year annuity, which would provide for a part-time English teacher and a general maintenance fund that Thein would administer for the next 10 years. Thein, not missing a beat, started talking to Sarah about a monastery, just like this one but housing boys, located nearby that needed similar support. There was so much that could be done here, and Sarah starting thinking about forming a larger aid organisation.
Sarah put her head on Jason’s shoulder as the van pulled away. She held his arm, saying to him, “I missed you. Thank you for coming.”
He kissed her on the head. “We missed you guys, too. Looks like you had an amazing two weeks.”
“It really was,” Sarah said. “I can’t really even explain it. Feeling like we really contributed, both in time and money, that’s satisfying, for sure. But seeing Ruby at the nunnery, playing so happily with all the girls…and then having you and Eric come… I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before.”
“I’m so happy for you,” he said. “Sounds like you may have found your calling.”
“Yeah, maybe I have…” She paused to consider this.
She put her hand in his. “I’m so sorry for everything, for harping on you so much, for being such a pain. It was me all along. Thank you for bringing our family on this wonderful adventure.”
Jason squeezed her hand and said, “I’m sorry, too. And no, it wasn’t just you; it was us all along. And it will always be us.”
He put his other arm around Ruby and Eric, who were scrunched together in the seat next to him, giving them kisses and tickles, which elicited high-pitched shrieks from both children.
EPILOGUE
A WARM BREEZE blew through the small neighbourhood playground where Carys was pushing her son, Noah, on a swing. She had been back in the UK for six months, staying first with her family in Wales for a month or so, and then moving to a flat outside London, coincidentally just a few doors down from where she had lived 10 years ago, just after graduation. She enrolled Noah in a cosy nursery school up the block, run by a grandmotherly Irish woman, and signed on as a supply teacher in the county schools, usually working two or three days of the week until summer break, which was now nearing its final days.
She had reunited with many of her old friends, some of whom had never left the area, spending many a Happy Hour reminiscing about old times. She had also run into a couple of ex-boyfriends, one who was married with children of his own, and one who was still single, who said to her, “Welcome back; it’s nice to see you again,” in a suggestive tone.
Ian had come to visit them early in the summer, thankfully without Janet, and had taken Noah to spend two weeks with his own parents in Brighton, a 90-minute drive from London. Carys had been cordial, asking politely how his job was going and reminding him to apply plenty of sunblock on Noah’s fair skin. She flew to Milan during that time, meeting up with an old schoolmate who ran her own fashion line, and spent a relaxing vacation drinking wine and reading books on the balcony of her friend’s apartment that overlooked the city.
When Carys returned, Ian asked if she wanted to have dinner with him and Noah be
fore he headed back to Singapore. She had agreed, meeting them at an Italian bistro located in one of the newer strips of restaurants that were popping up around town. He looked different, her husband, not in a bad way, but he had put on weight, and his hairline had receded just a smidgen. She asked how their holiday had been, and he praised her genuinely at what a fine boy Noah had become. At the end of the meal, they walked back to his car to retrieve Noah’s luggage, transferring it to her own car as Ian hugged their son goodbye. Carys gave Ian an awkward hug and wished him a safe flight back home.
She had kept in touch with Sarah, mostly over social media, and had been thrilled to see the photo album of the trip to Myanmar, her friend looking positively radiant among her volunteer team and the young students from the nunnery.
When she and Noah got back to their flat after the playground, Carys checked her email and saw that a message had come in from the Head of School of SIS, the school she had taught at in Singapore. Apparently, one of their language teachers had just notified them he had decided to take another post and they were desperately looking for a replacement teacher to start immediately; the first day of the school year was in only 10 days. They were offering Carys a full-time position with an overseas salary package, which included relocation, housing benefits and free tuition for Noah, all higher than what she had received a few years ago when she had moved to Dubai.
Carys stared at the message, trying to visualise what it would be like, returning to Singapore, her circumstances a bit different this time around. She turned to Noah, asking, “Hi No-No, would you like to move back to Singapore? Do you remember when we lived there?”
“Daddy in Singapore,” Noah said, not looking up from the puzzle he was playing with.
“Yes, you’re right, your Daddy is in Singapore,” Carys said. “Maybe we could go back to live there again. Not with Daddy though, just near him. Remember Marilyn? And the pool? And Eric and Ruby?”
“No?” Noah said, but smiling. “Let’s go!” he yelled, always happy to go on a trip somewhere.
“Well, it’s certainly something to think about, isn’t it,” she said, kneeling down and joining him on the carpet.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THANK YOU TO the following people, without whom this novel would not have been possible:
First and foremost, to Tanya Melillo, who gave me the push I badly needed – Tanya, the world needs more people like you.
To my marketing manager, Ilangoh, who replied to my message at nearly midnight one evening, and transformed my life.
To my editor, Jill Lim, for patiently guiding me through the whole publishing process.
To the original Rochester Crew – you know who you are – what a great two years we had!
To Emmeline Tan, Janice Hoefert and Dyah Prastyorini, who all possess the true volunteer spirit I attempted to capture herein.
To my early readers who provided me much needed encouragement and comments on the manuscript – Paola Florez de Sessions, Benton Williams, Emilie Williams (no relation), Anne Stukas, Amy Beekley, Jessica Lund, and my brother and sister-in-law.
To Jennah, for taking such wonderful care of our household.
To my parents, for all the support throughout the years.
To our elderly cocker spaniel, for always being underfoot as I was writing.
To our wonderful children, for bringing joy and the unexpected to every single day.
And finally, to my husband, to whom I dedicate this book – thank you for putting up with me all these years.
Stephanie Suga Chen is a graduate of the Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania and a former partner of a New York City-based investment fund. A proud Taiwanese-American, she grew up in Michigan and moved to Singapore in 2012 with her husband, two children, and ageing cocker spaniel. Travails of a Trailing Spouse is her first novel.
Connect with her at www.stephaniechen.org
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